


Tomorrow

by twisting_vine_x



Series: Scratching Out A Life [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Last Night on Earth, M/M, Zombie AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 18:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7474908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twisting_vine_x/pseuds/twisting_vine_x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: The night before a mission that could change everything, if they can just make it through alive.</p><p>
  <i>“He means it, you know.” Kenma's voice is soft, and he's not smiling, every word laced with something that sounds like bittersweet affection. “You and I can both tell when he's lying, after all.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>There's definitely affection there – much more openly than Keiji is used to hearing, and, shit, tomorrow really is getting to all of them, isn't it? – but it does have that edge of ache to it, and when Kuroo swallows and tightens his grip around Kenma, Keiji goes to sit beside Koutarou, making sure to press their knees together. For a moment, the four of them just sit there in silence, nothing but the hum of the base and the sound of their soft breathing, and then Kenma stirs, though his eyes are fixed down on the blanket underneath him, as though he can't stand to look at any of them.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Take... take care of each other tomorrow, okay?”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tomorrow

_Slam._

The ball hits the wall, again, ricocheting off and rolling back along the floor. Keiji feels his hands ball into fists as Koutarou scoops it up without even looking at, his hand raising back into the air again.

_Slam._

It's like he's not even seeing it. It's been at least twenty minutes now, Keiji is sure of it. Koutarou's expression is unfocused, and the ball keeps hitting the wall in almost exactly the same place, and Keiji only tears his gaze away when Kuroo comes to stand beside him, his arm slung protectively across Kenma's shoulders. They'd been curled up in the corner of the gym, but Kenma's staring firmly down at the floor, now, his lips pinched tight, like the sound of the ball has been getting to him, too; and Kuroo's eyes are dark, flickering over to Koutarou before coming back to Keiji.

“Take care of him?”

He doesn't need to ask. They all know he doesn't need to. Keiji nods anyway, and Kuroo gives him the saddest little attempt at a smile that Keiji's ever seen, even as Kenma stirs beside him.

“Maybe he feels useless.”

His voice is very soft, and he's still staring at the floor, his lips pressed tightly together, and Keiji feels a new wave of exhaustion rock through him. He's not sure if Kenma's talking about himself, more than he's talking about Koutarou – but maybe it's both. Keiji's been wondering the same thing for a while. And when he nods his acknowledgement, Kuroo squeezes his shoulder before gently guiding Kenma in the direction of the doorway, with Kenma's hand coming up to slide into his.

There's a tight squeeze in Keiji's stomach, some mix of bitter-sweet affection, and he turns back to Koutarou just in time to see him pick up the ball and then just hold it, his shoulders hunched as he stares ahead at nothing. Keiji takes that as his cue to stand. He was only going to let Koutarou wear himself out for another hour or so, anyway. They have that fucking mission to go on in the morning.

No wonder Koutarou's more miserable than usual.

“Bokuto-san.”

His voice is loud in the suddenly quiet room, the words brushing up against the concrete walls, and when Koutarou doesn't say anything, Keiji steps up behind him and wraps his arms around him. Nudges the ball out of his arms – it hits the floor with a thud, and then rolls away – and presses his nose against Koutarou's back, holding on tight to him. For a moment, Koutarou doesn't react at all, like he's barely even aware of Keiji's presence, and then his breath leaves him in a rush and he spins around, yanking Keiji in against him and holding on so tight it feels like he's going to crush his bones. The tears that spring to Keiji's eyes have absolutely nothing to do with any kind of physical pain.

“Bokuto-san...”

“I don't want you to go tomorrow.”

It's barely a breath, against his hair, low and frantic and so fucking _desperate,_ where Koutarou's buried his face against him, and Keiji squeezes his eyes shut, trying to keep the tears from falling.

Dammit. _Dammit._ He was supposed to be strong, here. He needs to hold it together for both of them.

“I don't want you to go, either.”

He can hear the rasp in his voice, and Koutarou must hear it, too, because he swallows and tightens his grip, plastering Keiji against him and not saying a word, and Keiji tries to take a deep breath.

He's been watching Koutarou fade, all this time. Once the most devastatingly carefree and open person that Keiji had ever known – Koutarou had _always_ said what he felt, had never felt the need to hide anything, had loved Keiji so completely and openly, as though he knew no other way to love – and now he's... different. It's like a bit of the spark that had made him _him_ has been snuffed out.

And it's not that he loves any less openly. That, at least, hasn't changed. Koutarou still whispers love sonnets into Keiji's skin. Still stares at Keiji like he hung the moon. He's still so _honest_ in his love for him that Keiji sometimes can barely look at him, because being the subject of such devotion is _terrifying_. He never wants Koutarou to stop, though. Keiji feels the same way about him, after all.

So, no. That's not how Koutarou's changed. It's more that just... in everything else he does with his life, some of that spark is gone. The ever-present exuberance has faded into bone-deep exhaustion and glazed over eyes, along with night after night spent slamming the volleyball against the wall.

Maybe it's not surprising. Koutarou had always been more uncomplicatedly optimistic than anyone Keiji had ever known. Even his moments of self-doubt had rarely lasted. He'd just been so _open_ to the world around him, always wanting to learn more, always looking for the next adventure.

Maybe that's why the end of the world had hit him so hard. Koutarou had given everything of himself to life, in every way that he could – and life had responded by turning around and gut-punching him.

The thought burns nausea right through Keiji, along with a flash of rage so strong it steals his breath, knocking the wind right out of him and scaring the hell out of him at the same time.

_Fuck._

He's the one who holds it together. All this time, he's been holding it together. He needs to _not_ stop now. He's always been there for Koutarou, always been his rock, first in school, and now, too, ever since the world went to hell, and he needs to _not fall apart._ Koutarou needs him to be _strong,_ he –

“You're shaking.”

Is he? Fuck. He totally is. And Koutarou sounds almost... scared, which does nothing to help with the shake in Keiji's knees, his lungs, all through him, he's – what's _happening_ to him? Why _now,_ why – he's had his moments, yes, moments where he wavered, but he's _never been like this._

Tomorrow. It must be tomorrow. They're all horribly aware that it's a mission unlike anything they've tried before. The fear of it has been hanging over the base for weeks, a slowly smothering fog that's been creeping into every corner of the concrete halls. Maybe it's getting to him, too.

But he can't let it, he needs to –

“What can I do?” It sounds pained, sounds like Koutarou barely gets it out, and Keiji squeezes his eyes shut, guilt tasting acid on his tongue; but Koutarou's not done, his voice just getting shakier as he keeps going. “You... you're always so... you're so _strong,_ Akaashi, you're stronger than anyone I've ever known, and – and I never want to say anything, because I think it's your way of coping?”

It _does_ sound like an actual question – sounds like he's not quite sure – but Keiji feels himself freeze, anyway, sudden embarrassment burning through him. There's something like pride, though, too. Perceptive bastard. Anyone who thinks Koutarou is stupid doesn't know him like Keiji does.

Still. Keiji hadn't expected such a frank assessment. And, fuck – Koutarou's right, after all.

Before he can say anything, though, Koutarou's moving, his arms tightening around him as he hauls Keiji in closer, coming close to squishing his face into his chest, with how close Koutarou is holding him. There's a desperation in it all that has him shaking even worse, his stomach turning over.

“Bokuto-san...”

“I – I've wanted to say for a while – you don't always gotta be the strong one, okay? I... I know I'm a mess, sometimes, and you're always there for me, but... I can do that for you, too. If you want.”

He's still holding on to Keiji like he thinks that he'll slip away if he lets go – his bigger body folded over Keiji's, like he thinks he can protect him – and Keiji buries his nose into Koutarou's shoulder.  
  
All this time, he's been holding it together. Through all the blood, and dirt, and pain, and all the long, terrifying nights. And now, it's like something's finally cracking inside him. Which is _stupid_ , because nothing's even happening right now. Koutarou and him have been in this position so many times. Wrapped up around each other in this concrete room, with that volleyball lying at their feet.  
  
Tomorrow, though. He hadn't been thinking about it, and maybe that was a mistake.  
  
And maybe, too... maybe Koutarou has a point. Maybe Keiji's not doing them any favours, always being the strong one. Maybe Kenma was right when he'd suggested that Koutarou felt useless. Keiji's been considering the same thing for months - that maybe it wasn't enough, that all the fighting and the missions still weren't giving Koutarou any sense of self-worth, weren't giving him enough of a drive to keep moving forward - but maybe he's been looking at this the wrong way. Maybe Koutarou's been feeling useless in a completely different way, and it's Keiji who's been a selfish ass, keeping all his pain curled up inside himself while Koutarou let everything out to bleed.  
  
That's not how relationships are supposed to work, after all. How did he ever forget that?  
  
Maybe Koutarou's not the only one who's been changed by the end of the world.  
  
"... Akaashi? Did - did I say the wrong thing, or -"

"I'm sorry, Bokuto-san." His voice comes out horribly shaky, with the sudden terror licking hot and terrible through his veins, and he swallows, the words getting stuck. "You - you've done nothing wrong, and -"  
  
He has to stop and try again, though, licking his lips with how dry his mouth has gone, the ache inside him rabbiting his heartbeat up even higher.

Terrifying. This is absolutely terrifying. If this is what admitting weakness feels like, he wants nothing to do with it.

"Akaashi..."  
  
"Did... did you want a chance to take care of me for a bit?"

Somehow, it's one of the hardest things he's ever said. It shouldn't be, but it is. Maybe he really _has_ been holding it together for too long.

And when Koutarou doesn't immediately respond, Keiji barely stops a cringe, that twist of vulnerability becoming a terrible full-body ache; but then Koutarou's hands are sliding slow and easy down his back, like he thinks he can soothe him, or something, which is... kind of horrifically endearing, actually, and Keiji feels himself flush with embarrassment.

Shit. _Shit,_ maybe this was a bad idea.

But with Koutarou holding onto him like this, like Keiji's the most precious person in this entire terrible world, it's hard to care about anything but leaning closer and letting Koutarou hold him. That horrible vulnerability is still there, but it's easing, just a little bit, though it's still hard to speak.

“I... I just mean...”

“Tomorrow, Akaashi, I'm gonna watch your back. Same way I always do, and same way you're always keeping an eye on me.” Koutarou's voice still isn't steady, and his arms are still tight around Keiji, and Keiji can't stop a shudder as he closes his eyes. How long has he needed this? “And _then,_ when we get back –” He cuts himself off, though, and Keiji immediately feels himself tense – don't say _if_ we get back, don't say it, please, _please_ don't – but Koutarou just makes a soft noise, like he's remembered something. “Hey, I wanted to ask, actually – why'd ya still call be that? 'Bokuto-san', I mean. Like, I know I'm still calling you 'Akaashi', too, so it's both of us, but – why are we still doing it? I mean, you're the reason I get up in the morning. Aren't we past the last names and honourifics?”

For a long moment, there's only the sound of Keiji's pulse hammering frantic in his own ears. It's part affection at how easily Koutarou is distracted – though, perhaps, all of this is all connected, anyway – and part absolute terror at what he actually said.

_You're the reason I get up in the morning._

He can't think about that now, though. He just can't. That's too much. When... when they get back, maybe he'll try to deal with that.

Besides, there's another important part to Koutarou's question, and it's something that Keiji's pondered on before, too. It hadn't taken him long to put it together, and he slides a gentle hand down Koutarou's back, able to feel the coiled strength still twisted up in there. Even at the end of the world, even with monsters trying to break down their door, Koutarou still has that same raw physical strength that he always had. And maybe that's got something to do with his question, too.

“I... I think we do it for the same reason you're still carrying that volleyball around.” It's true, too. Koutarou had grabbed it, at the training camp, when this had all began, and then somehow clung to it through every horror, shoving it in his backpack and keeping it safe; and when he hears Koutarou swallow, like he understands what Keiji is getting at, it's enough to keep him going. “Same reason you stand down here, night after night, practising your serve even when we don't have a net. I guess –”

“Clinging to the past doesn't sound all that healthy.” It sounds almost grumpy, suddenly, as though Koutarou's irritated with himself for not putting it together, and Keiji breathes through the fondness, his hands sliding along Koutarou's back in an attempt to tell him that it's alright. It must work, too, because Koutarou only last a few seconds before he sighs into it and presses a kiss against Keiji's temple, before he suddenly straightens up a bit. “Oh! Right. Like I was saying. When when get back tomorrow, I'm gonna pamper you, okay? I mean, alright, I haven't quite figured out _how_ , yet, because... well, the options here are a little limited – but I _am_ going to. I'll figure something out.” 

There's a determined note to it that's endearing as fuck – it's like Koutarou's drawing up battle plans, instead of figuring out how to take care of his partner – and Keiji feels a miraculous little smile cross his lips, even as Koutarou wraps his arms tighter around him. When was the last time he really smiled?

“ _And,_ as for tonight – well, mostly, I'm pretty sure we need to sleep, but – can I hold you until you fall asleep, at least? Or if you – want to talk. About anything. I'm, uh. I'm always here, ya know?”

There's a hesitant note creeping back into Koutarou's voice, and Keiji takes a moment to hate himself – he's been such an _idiot,_ how could he have _missed_ this all this time – before he turns his head to press his nose right against Koutarou's neck, resting his cheek against the curve of his shoulder and Koutarou swallows and tightens his grip around him, like he's afraid to let go.

It's enough to have Keiji squeezing his eyes shut. Koutarou's not the only one afraid to let go.

“I promise to try to talk to you more, Bokuto-san.”

As far as promises go, it comes out sounding a little weak. It must be enough, though, because Koutarou's hesitance fades into a happy sound, and when he pulls back, he's not quite smiling, but there's something in his face that makes Keiji swallow. Something that – he hasn't seen Koutarou this animated in... longer than he cares to think about, actually. There's a bit of a spark back in his eyes, and Keiji has to look away, because the wave of relief is almost enough to make him cry.

How hadn't he thought of this until now? Letting Koutarou focus more on Keiiji than on himself – of _course_ that would do it. It might not be the most healthy coping strategy, sure, but – at this point – it's not like they can exactly be picky. If it works, then like hell is Keiji going to question it.

The thought's barely processed before Koutarou's fingers are lacing into his, something sweet and possessive about it all at once.

“Come on, then. Let's head back. I wanna talk to Kuroo and Kenma before tomorrow, too.”

There's an odd note of conviction there that Keiji's pretty sure he hasn't heard in a while, and when Koutarou tugs on his hand, he just swallows and lets himself be tugged, the volleyball lying on the floor behind them, and something inside him feeling less frantic that it has in a long time.

\- - -

When they get back to the room, Kuroo and Kenma are curled up together on their bed, with Kenma wrapped up in Kuroo's arms, and Kuroo's back against the wall and his legs around Kenma, his chin resting on top of Kenma's head. It's a familiar sight, and it always warms Keiji's heart. Kenma never looks safer than when he's tucked in against Kuroo, curled up in a ball against him with his cheek resting against Kuroo's chest, and all of Kuroo's ridiculously long limbs wrapped around him.

Kenma also looks like he's about halfway to falling asleep, as well, though his eyes slowly blink open as Keiji closes the door behind him. It shuts with a click in the silent room – he can hear water dripping from the sink in the corner, and the generators are still that ever-constant constant hum, far below their feet – and Keiji's just stepped into the room when Koutarou settles himself down on Kuroo and Kenma's bed, sitting in front of them, his brow furrowed in a way that makes Keiji's stomach hurt. He looks some mixture of unsure and embarrassed, like he really wants to say something but isn't sure how, and Keiji has to fight the urge to go wrap himself up around him.

Where is Koutarou going with this?

From Kenma's slow blinking and Kuroo's confused expression, his face knitting into a frown as he shifts behind Kenma, like he's trying to lean closer, Keiji's not the only one here who's a bit lost.

“Bo? Is there –”

“I... wanted to apologize. I get sad sometimes, and I know it makes you sad, too, but I... I don't know...” He trails off into silence, his voice gone shaky as he frowns down at his hands, and Keiji feels his mouth drop open, even as Kuroo's does the same. He looks like he doesn't know what to say, his eyes wide as Koutarou hunches his shoulders down further, as though he's trying to curl in on himself. “I don't know how to _stop,_ sometimes, when... when I get sad. And I wasn't sure how to talk to you, what to say, I –”

“It's okay.” Kuroo sounds half-strangled, and his eyes are still wide, in counterpoint to Kenma's shocked staring. Keiji can't blame them. His own mouth is still hanging open. Since when does Koutaro ever get like this? “You – _everyone_ gets sad, Bo, we _all_ do, okay? So don't... don't beat yourself up over it, seriously, you – you don't need to apologize for anything, alright?”

For a second, there's only the sound of the water dripping in the bathroom, and Keiji's pretty sure he can hear it echoing against the horrible concrete walls, with how quiet the room is. Then, Koutarou straightens a bit, staring hard at Kuroo, like he's looking for sincerity, his eyebrows still furrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line, until Kenma finally reaches out and gently nudges Koutarou's knee, where he's sitting close to them. From the way Koutarou jumps, he wasn't expecting that.

“What –”

“He means it, you know.” Kenma's voice is soft, and he's not smiling, every word laced with something that sounds like bittersweet affection. “You and I can both tell when he's lying, after all.”

There's definitely affection there – much more openly than Keiji is used to hearing, and, shit, tomorrow really is getting to all of them, isn't it? – but it does have that edge of ache to it, and when Kuroo swallows and tightens his grip around Kenma, Keiji goes to sit beside Koutarou, making sure to press their knees together. For a moment, the four of them just sit there in silence, nothing but the hum of the base and the sound of their soft breathing, and then Kenma stirs, though his eyes are fixed down on the blanket underneath him, as though he can't stand to look at any of them.

“Take... take care of each other tomorrow, okay?”

It's so soft Keiji barely hears him. Behind Kenma, Kuroo's face twists like someone's hit him, crumpling like he's suddenly fighting tears, and he closes his eyes and presses his face into Kenma's hair. For a moment, none of them move, and then Koutarou puts a hesitant hand on Kenma's knee, like he's awkwardly trying to pat him, even as Kuroo sucks in a breath and presses closer.

“I – I promise, kitten. We're all gonna look out for each other. And – and you –”

“I'll be right on the other side of the walkie-talkie. I'll do everything I can from here.”

It's still soft, still sad, but there's the tiniest bit of conviction there, and Keiji closes his own eyes, because keeping them open is suddenly too much. There's a press of fingers, too, as Koutarou's hand finds his, lacing their fingers together between them, and Keiji leans closer, squeezing his eyes shut tighter as he rests against Koutarou, something frantic suddenly running through his exhausted bones.

Tomorrow. They just need to make it through tomorrow.

 


End file.
